Finding Angels
by Lidsworth
Summary: After the infection, Piers was locked away in a facility and kept away from the world. There, he was emotionally neglected, and eventually went insane. All of his thoughts, he writes in a book, finding comfort in that only. Until a simple note is left on his food tray, a note that let's him know he's still loved and not forgotten, a note that let's him know someone cares.R&R please
1. Angel

**A/N: So, I've been thinking about this for a while. There's nothing bad in it, this is just the first chapter, it's gonna be a short story. Hope you like it, tell me what you think.**

Please, Read and Review!  
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil  
He was always in the hospital, ever since his infection. He'd lost all contact with the outside world and his friends. Over time, humans became the same to him, despite the fact that he'd infected himself for the world, the world treated like a deadly object. Caution hung about anyone who came into his room, a caution that let him know he wasn't to be trusted. 

Therefore, normal day objects became important to him. Like his IV bag stand had become his best friend, it was always there, always beside him. He needed it, and though it wasn't real, he'd believed it needed him too, in order to fulfill its purpose. And, he knew it was just an object, but he liked to think of it that way.

Piers wrote things like this in his journal, the one he'd received since he'd been in the facility. It was also an object he was close to, it knew his secrets, it knew what he felt and what he feared. It knew his desired and his thoughts, it knew Piers.

There was the C-Virus that was dormant in his body, but that wasn't anything to him, not anymore.

Piers also began to welcome the loneliness, he wrote about it often, mainly because he began to know nothing else. When people limited contact with him, and he bonded with objects that could bond with him, he became insane, and as a result of insanity came loneliness. He wasn't sure which one he embraced first.

That all changed though, one early morning, when he was having a conversation with his IV bag stand. It only replied though, with occasional bubbles, nothing more. Still, that was enough for Piers, who'd lacked contact with people for so long.

Piers' room (or cell, that's what he preferred was small and white, one window with white curtains, white carpet,one white bed, and two doors, one to the restroom and the other to the facility. His doctor usually gave him food, but,while he was in the restroom, or slipped it under the door. They gave him injections when they gave him food, because they slipped medicine into his food.

Yep, not contact with actual beings whatsoever, until that morning.

Just as his conversation was coming to an end, his food was slipped under his door as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary, until he saw the napkin under his plate.

On normal occasions, Piers wouldn't really go near his food, his medicine completely diminished his already small appetite. But, today, there was a napkin, with writing, bright pink writing.

****Piers slowly made his way to the tray and removed the napkin. On it, three simple things were written.

_Love C.R_

C.R? Who was C.R? Claire Redfield, the whore who broke his heart? Of course not, she cheated on him when they were engaged, of course it couldn't be her. Than who else, who else had those same initials.

He looked again. The handwriting was different, not like Claire's, more bubbly than Claire's, more inviting. He took the napkin and held it to his heart, taking in all the love in the single cloth, all the love and contact he'd been denied for so long.

He didn't stop hugging himself even when tears began to fall, when he began to return to reality and grasped that he was finally going insane.

Anyone else would've thought it was funny, crying over a napkin, but to Piers, it was much more than that. Someone cared about him, someone loved him. Though it was someone he'd never met before, someone loved him, he wasn't forgotten.

These weren't just tears of pain and suffering, they were tears of joy.

The following days, Piers was considerably happier, and no longer talking to his IV Bag Stand, instead he concentrated fully on the napkin, writing more and more about it, and contemplating on who it was who'd sent it. He'd also noticed that the food trays he'd been receiving had a distinct flowery smell to them, the same one that the napkin had.

So, this wasn't a one time thing, he still was being watched. He contemplated on praying again, or, more. Maybe God had sent him an angel, an angel that watched him when he'd been fighting with the B.S.A.A, and the same angel who'd watched him in this hospital.

He sometimes wrote about God. He didn't like him, and tried not to believe in him. He wrote about all the terrible things that had happened under God's "watchful" eye.

Through all the pain and suffering he'd gone through, he'd tried his best to convince himself that God wasn't real, that angels were just myths, that it was all just false hope. He thought it was a waste of time whenever he'd see Fin loosely clasping that old worn cross on his neck, marching with war hardened men in the middle of a battlefield, death in the very air they breathed, praying for answers. But now, when being cast in a personal hell of his own, Piers found that light could be found even in the darkest of places, and that pain and suffering were apart of life.

That night, Piers looked out of the window, the napkin in his hand, and stared into the night sky. Piers had rarely prayed, he hardly knew how, but he felt by just saying words, just asking for help, that maybe the angels would hear him. So that's what he did, he asked that God would send his angel back more and more, and that maybe he'd actually get to see her in person, and if it be possible, that he would be granted permission to leave this place and start over.

After that, Piers went to his bed, hoping he'd soon see the face of his angel.****

Did you catch the Harry Potter reference? So, obviously, i don't like Claire. She's useless to me. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, because i liked it. I proofread it myself this time, so, beware for spelling errors. Again, please review, and I hope you liked it. God bless :) 


	2. Promise

**A/N: A virus can never be cured, once you have it, you have it forever. A bacteria, however, can be cured. But it's not a virus. Anyway, they mysterious C.R is introduced in this chapter, and we find out how much she means to Piers, and emotionally, he's becoming more unstable. This is a short chapter, just a quick introduction, and a bit of sad dialogue. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil. **

**Promise **

Heavy high heels collided with smooth tiles down a long hospital hallway. A white lab coat trailed behind the beautiful blond doctor who kept a steady pace as she walked with a tray of food in her hands.

This woman, she was mysterious, very mysterious. She'd worked in this facility of tortured souls for a while now, and, until recently, for she had slipped a note of hope under a door, had kept her whereabouts unknown to many, especially the patients. Not only was it safe for her, but it was safe for the patient as well. As far as she was concerned, relationships would only end in disaster, something she'd seen too much of.

She'd known the facility well; it's walls, its doors, its occupants. Ever since she'd been saved and pardoned from her crimes, she'd been forced to do the biding of the government. Besides, she knew the virus well, so why not help out those infected.

She turned her on her heels, her I.D swinging as she did so. The food remained, however, completely motionless, as it was a small amount. The patient who would be eating it never ate much, only small bites.

Carla Radames had never dreamed she'd be trying destroying what she created, especially when the intention of it had been revenge. It wasn't until she was caught and made tangible once again that she'd realized what she'd done, what hate and revenge had done to her.

The virus was a virus, and like the flu, it couldn't be cured. It was not a bacterium. It had a mind of its own, a mind of its own being the very reason many were kept in the facility and carefully monitored.

Carla was doing everything she could to help, and recently, she'd become attached to one patient in particular.

Piers Nivans...

She saw him when he first arrived from the underwater facility, covered in blood and a bit traumatized by the events that had taken place. He kept on babbling about this terrifying voice in his head, telling him that he had to kill Chris Redfield. Carla knew that these were effects of the virus, and that his blood thirst would only get worse if left untreated.

The only option was solitary confinement until they could find a cure strong enough to "sustain" it. Again, a virus could not be cured.

So, here was Carla, kneeling by his door as she did often, listening into the room for any kind of noise that might seep through the slot underneath. She listened and heard nothing, not even so much as a stir.

She thought of the note on the napkin she'd sent him, a simple three worded note.

Love C.R

"He must be asleep," she said to herself, sliding the tray under and turning to leave. Suddenly, however, a sharp but silent, _wait_, caused the doctor to stop in her tracks.

She turned towards the door again, and replied cautiously, "Yes?"

She never really spoke to patients, or she never spoke to patients as confined as this one. She leaned her ear on the door, and heard a relieved sigh at her reply.

"Does your first name start with C?" he asked his voice barely above a whisper. He seemed to really want the answer; he seemed to really want it to be yes.

Carla stopped for a while, not wanting to answer the question completely straightforward.

"Did you slip the note under my door?" he asked again, his voice still soft, but it's tone excited. This was only expected, though, for someone who had had such limited contact to the world, to hear the voice of another human was positively exciting.

Carla didn't want to crush his spirits, nor did she want to give out her identity to a patient, so she treaded carefully.

"Ye_Maybe," she said her tone playful "is it very important to you?"

"Yes," Piers said, his voice pleading, "it's very important to me. I need to know who it was, because someone cares about me, at least I'm not completely alone."

Carla paused for a second. The last part was drawn and weary, "_at least I'm not completely alone_." , and Carla felt her hardened heart ache for him.

They were so alike.

For a short while, neither talked, until Carla broke the ice. She didn't want to abandon him, and as much as she hated it, she was already attached.

"If you try to eat your food, when I come and pick up your tray later, then I'll tell you," she said, her voice as calm as possible, despite the fact that she felt a few tears stinging her eyes.

"Really?" Piers shouted, and immediately lowered his voice, "In that case, I'll eat...Even if I'm not hungry, as long as you promise to come back."

Carla could hear his voice wavering, a crack evident in it. She knew that he was probably on the verge of tears, just as she was. The worst part though was that he actually acknowledged his loneliness.

He wasn't crazy like these other patients, he was aware of what wasn't going on around him, and the fact that someone talked to him...it made him feel loved.

"Piers..." she didn't know what to say, she had to leave though so she had to make it quick, "everything's going to be okay."

And with that, she could hear soft sniffs from the other side of the door, letting her know she'd hit his weak spot.

"I wish I could say the same," he said his voice weak and laced with tears.

"Pier's, I've got to go, but, everything will be okay, I promise. I'll look after you, okay. It's a promise."

"Promise?" he asked, hesitant as an abused child. She could hear the creaks in the door, she could hear him leaning in, wanting to hear her repeat that word, to seal their agreement, to be there for him.

"Promise," she restated, evidently confident and sure. She heard him sigh a sigh of relief and lean off of the door.

Another sniff, and Piers replied, "Thanks."

"No problem, goodbye," and with that, Carla made her leave down the hallway, a new space carved deeply in her heart, a space for Piers Nivans.

**Please review, I'd really appreciate that. I'm thinking of a killer story for Leon and Luis, I hope you like that one if I post it. This story is short, so it will be done soon. Critiques are allowed, just no flames, and if you say something stupid, do not disable your email so I can't reply to you. Someone did that and I was so angry. Anyway, hope you like it, God bless. **


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